Permission to leave
by Strana
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: Selfharm, suicide thoughts, drug use Sherlock is back on cuting himself after he thinks he has caused mayor pain to John. He does everything he can so John doesn't find out, but this means he gets no help either.


Chapter 1: Bad Decision

Sherlocks POV

It's ben one of those days you know in the morning it's going to be really shitty. And what else could he be than right? Yes, he did solve the case. Actually, it was John who solved the case, but the doctor is so sweet he made him think he did it. How much he loved John. How much he wished he could tell him, but there's no way. John's straight, he made this point very clear by bringing home several of his girlfriends. Sherlock never liked them. He even managed to get rid of one of them on that Christmas night. As if he wouldn't remember which one she was. But it worked. He had John back to himself for some days. But at the same time, he was really angry at himself for doing that to John.

It was that night he did it again. Since he met John, he had never done it again. But seeing John hurt, hurt by him, he couldn't do any others. John quickly went to bed after Jeanette left. The others left too and so he was there alone. He had ben sitting there in the chair for some hours and thought about John and how much he must have hurt him. Emotions, the always were puzzles to him. Riddles he couldn't solve. Even his own. Yeah, his won emotions were the ones who really caused trouble. Like that night. There were so many emotions. So many thoughts he couldn't handle, so many feelings he had been locking behind massive walls for so long. He couldn't take it. He knew, he might hurt John by doing this, but he would never find out, right? It's been winter, so long sleeves wouldn't cause attention. And anyway, why should John care? It was just him, his freak of a friend, his annoying flatmate, a high functioning sociopath getting high by solving crimes. No, he wouldn't care. But Sherlock did. Not for himself obviously, but for John. And because he had caused John pain, it must only be fair to cause some to himself too. So, Sherlock got up from his chair, slowly, silent, very careful not to wake John. He went to the bathroom and sat down on the bathtub. He reached out for the one thing that could give him relive in this moment: the small silver blade. Pointing it to the light, it shimmered in a beautiful silver. So sharp, so small, but so much it can do. Sherlock got rid of his jacket and the shirt and looked up in the mirror for one short moment, catching something in his eyes he hadn't seen there for a long time: psychological pain and a carving for physical one to cover it up. With one quick move the blade glided over his pale skin and caused a red trace. The pain caught Sherlock by surprise, he hadn't felt it for so long. But he embraced it like an old friend and so he moved the blade over his skin over and over again. In between the cuts he watched the blood coming out of his wounds, getting more and more, heavier, and then finding its way down to the floor. One drip, two, three… Soon he lost count. Of the cuts and of the drips of blood on the bathroom floor. Then he came to the moment his whole arm was covered in blood, the lines weren't even visible anymore. Sherlock just sat there, watching the blood still dripping of his arm, his hand and his fingers down to the floor. And he felt calm, so calm. Like in trance he put of the rest of his clothes and got under the shower, trying to wash the blood of. But the warm water just caused more bleeding, so he finally decided to get out and just sat there, waiting for the bleeding to stop. When it did, he covered his arm in gauze, wrapped it in bandage and started to clean the mess he's made. The floor was red now, and it took him quite some time to get it back to white again, especially because he could only use one arm. But then he was done and went to bed.

All that happened some weeks ago and since then he had done it again several times. First only his arms, but soon there was no more space to cut and so he moved forward to his legs. He always took care of the cuts so they heal properly. If he risked an infection, John would want to know how he got it. No, John couldn't find out. Not John. Sherlock always did it when John went to bed and surely had fallen asleep. He didn't do it daily. Maybe three times a week. But still the great detective knew he was back on it. Like with the drugs he got addicted to the pain and the stop of thinking it causes. And like with the drugs he would never want John to find out about it. He had caused so much harm to John over the last years, at least he thought that. And that's why he did this to himself. He caused pain to others, so wasn't it just the right thing to do to cause it to himself too?


End file.
